Quicksilver
by Cissys-missy
Summary: Narcissa Malfoy clears way for regret when she finds herself entwined beneath the sheets with a certain esteemed Journalist. In the spontaneous affair she struggles under the weight of infidelity. To her such an occurrence is a dangerous crime, especially in link to her family name.
1. Chapter 1

Throughout the confines of her bedchambers, Narcissa paced with nervousness. She chewed her bottom lip, eyeing the articles of clothing sprawled out and flung lazily across the room. The matter of her situation hadn't dawned its worry until now. Without warning, it set in.

What would Lucius think to find out? While he had his back turned, his wife wandered off, caught by intrigue. His wife has found a mistress - a plaything sought for pure enjoyment. Which now proved to be a ridiculous idea on its own level. Still she had no means to regret this little affair, instead she may even have felt satisfied.

Along their one night's endeavor, Rita Skeeters was willed to please and now as the two witches were awake the memories drew back in fleeting images. The curiosity in each caress, the lust pooling in a frenzied drive and above all, the temptation that dared its cause. Now, in her hopeless reminiscing, Narcissa couldn't help suppressing a grin. What an impossible woman, Rita is, but what more could be expected? Two people meet, they carve into each other and from there it's a dance with possibilities. A dance with restriction and want.

When Narcissa peaked upward through her tussled fringe, she stopped her pacing. The esteemed journalist rubbed down her thighs, eyeing Narcissa. She took note of the woman's strain and mused seeing frown. Her head tilt to the side as she watched her slip silk fabric through each arm. Then, she sighed as one tug at the waist tied Narcissa's robe to her slender form. Finally as she seemed settled, Rita thought to speak and her lips parted. "Madame Malfoy, is that a worry line I see? You really do look tense. Something on your mind, dear?" She teased, motioning Narcissa to seat next to her upon the bed.

Shortly after sending her silent message of a passive hold, Narcissa plopped herself down next to Rita. She stared ahead, blank in expression and Rita's grin curved upward to the side. She pressed a finger at Narcissa's jawline, turning her to face close. "There's no need to worry, Cissa, believe me." She crooned.

Narcissa's arched brows raised and in response she gave a dark chuckle, disturbing Rita's gentility. "That's a laugh. You really think I have absolutely nothing to worry about? My husband will be home soon and you say I have nothing more to worry about. How just lovely." She replied, folding her arms over her chest.

"The little witchy is afraid I see? Oh do calm down, love. You're adding more strain than need be."

Nothing but tempting. This behavior simply amused Narcissa- if not provoked. She sighed in her defeat

and waved her index finger to point in the direction of a framed portrait. Resting just above the mantle, cool grey eyes stared back at the two. "You see that man there," Narcissa said. "He's returning from a trial today, expecting to come home, welcomed with open arms by his family."

Blonde locks of curly hair bounced back in place soon as Rita combed through. This early in the morning, she couldn't care less about such a formality and Narcissa's fretting only seemed melodramatic. "Trouble in paradise, the usual story. I hear it every day. It's nothing notable. Nothing that can't be hidden with carefulness." Her fingers brushed at Narcissa's shoulder before being urged away by the swat of a hand.

"Notable to me," Narcissa cut in. "But of course. In a profession like yours news gets tossed around like candy,"

"If you're worried I might be letting free of our little secret," she pressed two fingers against her lips. "Trust me when I say, it's safe by lock and key."

Narcissa took her wand from the bedside table and flicked the point towards Lucius' portrait. It fell to the floor with a clamor.

"No matter," she said simply. "I'd rather not look at him just now."

Rita approached the other witch carefully before resting full weight upon her shoulder. "Relax, dove. You're far too tense. Look at me."

The witch turned with ease her eyes seemed to soften appearance- much to Rita's surprise. Narcissa could be stubborn when she wanted to, it was no secret. But that didn't cease entirely. Both hands rest stiff in her lap, a composure fit to such a woman. Her tone of her voice dropped low as she questioned Rita with her own quizzical front.

Rita in response perked noticeably. "He's never going to find out,"

Then, the woman stood. Clothes gathered up in a heap. With abundant haste, she handed Rita her belongings. "Get dressed. Nothing happened."

Discerning her manner, Rita eyed Narcissa. But soon held herself standing and fully styled in yesterday's wear. Tight form fit snug around her body and unlike before, Narcissa didn't seem to notice. Instead of lingering over her stirring thoughts, she chose to march head forward into the kitchen. A hot cuppa coffee would suffice.

She didn't walk alone, Rita crept almost guiltily behind her. It wasn't asked of her to leave just yet- besides, conversation was far from over. Still there was plenty more to say.


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing seemed settled. Not to Narcissa at least, though she couldn't complain considering just how well everything turned out in the end. The war could have treated her much worse, but she and her son were still alive and that's all she could every ask. Only now, she'd have to tell the story.

Soon, Her and Rita would see each other again and their next meeting would be formal compared to the last. The Malfoy witch scheduled an interview and her arrival was awaited with eagerness. She'd be meeting within the hour which meant Rita had plenty of time to prepare herself.

A grin worked upon her face as she strut towards her office. Snake-skin heels were clacking vigorously along wood flooring. Her hair was pinned up in an elegant bun, fixed for such an occasion. When she reaches her office, the clacking slowed. She settled into an armchair, in her cluttered office. The dishevelment surrounding cleared away with the flick of a wand and she perched upright. Self-satisfaction eased her as she sipped from a steaming cup of coffee in the tray she prepared.  
This had to be professional.

Contrast to Rita's keen readiness, Narcissa followed her own schedule. She trailed an hour away from the time agreed upon. The woman was exhausted. Her hair held loose and nearly unkept, eyes dark and puffy from a long night drained slowly. However, despite her muddled appearance, she was easily picked out through the crowd.

Ms. Skeeter's intern held the eye and composure of a hawk, searching the many faces marching along. Everyone seemed to be moving in a rehearsed direction, except for the Madame Malfoy who stood, brushed aside.  
"Narcissa!" She called, patting an invisible line of dust from her mint blazer. Her voice perked as she was calling out again.

With the young witch glancing her way Narcissa played a charming smile. She eyed her curiously with her eye for critique. The witch was walking with a bounce in her step, pushing past the bustling crowd.

"Narcissa, if I may call you that, of course. You don't mind do you?" She asked, extending an arm to Narcissa. Thin lips quirking slightly.

Narcissa merely shook her head, and peered up through tired eyes. "No, I don't mind," she replied, shaking the woman's hand. "Just Narcissa, please."

"Right, of course. Oh how rude of me, every witch and wizard alive knows your name, and I forget that doesn't always go both ways. My name's Polly, Polly Atropa. A mere intern here." Suddenly, a light flush softened a rosy shade onto her creamy complexion. "I work for Ms. Rita Skeeter."

"Of course." Narcissa said. "You've been sent to-"

"Sent to gather you, Ma'am." Polly interrupted.

"Right," Narcissa sighed. She felt a tug at her arm, ushering her along forth. Such a rude gesture, but she couldn't complain. She wasn't exactly fashionably late.

Polly was quite rushed. She strode along in a manner of business and they were both carving a path through the scatter, walking at a swift and terse pace.

"Rita's been waiting ever so patiently, but I've got a feeling she's going to jump when she sees you." Polly chimed, twisting past two business men in quiet conversation. Her wild blue hair brushed over one man's shoulder, poking at his cheek. Polly didn't seem to notice, and truly, Narcissa gathered that the young woman wouldn't care a bit.

When the two finally neared the cornered office, Narcissa was waved through the wide doorway. She took her seat across the desk, greeted with a pert smile, and pearly teeth. Indeed, patient as she could be she eyed Narcissa over the rim of her glasses. "Well, look who we have at last." Rita grinned. "The witch everyone has been chattering on about. It's THE Narcissa Malfoy. . . Pleasure to see you again, dear."

Narcissa tilt her head high, merely acknowledging Rita.

"There's no need to play shy now." Rita set down the quill in her hand and cast aside her notebook. The hardcover stationary slammed flat against her desk surface. Narcissa flinched, watching her. "You're just about as profusely known as the Potter boy now, Narcissa." Rita spoke, acknowledging as though Narcissa herself hadn't any idea of her stance.

Only a day passed since the battle of Hogwarts, and she was bid to an interview for a considerate price. The family could openly reason with a promise on Rita's end. She gave her word, there would be no-nonsense. The Malfoy's side in the war would be told in a bright clarity. Her story would be published and splashed upon the front page for a readers verdict. Considering the upside, this was enough of a fee for her time. She only had to play nice. And she only had to try.

The world itself was recovering too, and eagerly all awaited the story from each angle. So with Rita's haunting and eerie motion, the questions began at last.

At first, Narcissa was driven in autopilot. But it wasn't long before Rita brought her back to the ground she stood - or, rather, sat. Tense and still. She couldn't hope to compose herself when the grim questions were asked. The woman opposite her seemed completely detached from heart.


End file.
